


nothing is ever anyone's fault

by weatheredlaw



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternative Lifestyles, Escort Service, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, M/M, Wedding Date AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Aziraphale's sister is getting married, and it's high time he finally showed up with thatboyfriendhe's always talking about. There's just one problem: they're not real.Enter: Crowley, an escort with a very specialized skill set. He can be your boyfriend, for a price.It's a good thing they're only spending a week in the beautiful, idyllic countryside, surrounded by nothing but romantic, walkable pathways for miles and miles. Otherwise whatwouldthey do?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Michael (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 122
Kudos: 434
Collections: Good Omens Rom Com Event





	1. the problem

**Author's Note:**

> the first chapter of my entry for the good omens rom com. while it's short, it's just the start of something much more, and i hope you'll enjoy this crazy ride i've got planned.

The invitations to Michael’s wedding had gone out _weeks_ ago and, in a fit brought on by three glasses of wine and a sudden surge of confidence, Aziraphale had filled out the RSVP and marked _plus one_ , because he had abandoned his general sense of self preservation so long ago that most decisions he made hardly seemed to matter, in the grand scheme of things.

Aziraphale predicted it would take three days for the RSVP to reach Michael. He mailed it on a Monday. By Thursday morning, he had his response.

“ _So the amazing vanishing boyfriend finally makes an appearance._ ”

Aziraphale cringed. “About that—”

“ _You said he’d be there, why wouldn’t he be there?_ ”

“Well, something’s come up—”

“ _In less than a week?_ ”

“He’s terribly busy, Michael, you know I wouldn’t just make this _up_ —”

“ _Actually_ ,” she said, shifting the phone to her other ear, “ _I don’t know that._ ”

Aziraphale grew silent. Michael grew silent. Their _silence_ grew silent and then _more_ silence. They had been working very hard to become friends. Both of them understood the weight of her accusation, the measure of Aziraphale’s lie.

“...I suppose I could speak to him about it,” Aziraphale said, just as Michael cut in —

“ _I’m not trying to accuse you of something._ ”

“No, it’s alright.”

“ _It’s not. It’s only just...I feel like we’ve come very far, Aziraphale. And when you’re happy, I want to celebrate that._ ”

“I understand.”

Michael sighed. “ _I suppose if he really can’t come that’s alright. But I want to meet him eventually, Aziraphale. You know that, right?_ ”

“Of _course_ I know that. And I’ll make sure that you do. Sooner, rather than later. Alright?”

“ _Alright. Take care, please. I’ll talk with you soon._ ”

When she’d hung up, Aziraphale really couldn’t bear to look at the invitation any longer, and buried it under a stack of takeout menus by the fruit bowl.

* * *

“Seems like you’ve caused some trouble for yourself,” Anathema said, and refilled Aziraphale’s wine glass.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale muttered. He sighed. “Well, what I’ll really have to do is just show up alone and explain he simply couldn’t come, he’s been called away, or something like that.”

“What does your made-up boyfriend do?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Something in business. Didn’t want to get too specialized.”

“Clever.”

“I’m not _proud_ of it,” Aziraphale snapped. He took a long sip of his wine. “But lying to my family is just what I _do._ ”

Anathema nodded. She wasn’t judging Aziraphale, she never did. If he was defensive, that was his own problem. His family had long been a source of anxiety for him, and lying about who he was, what he did, and how he spent his time had was simply a part of his relationship with them. That he’d come out at _all_ was a major turning point, and really hadn’t been met to as much wailing and gnashing of teeth as he’d assumed. His mother was surprisingly good natured about it. And really, that was all the approval Aziraphale had been looking for.

His relationship with Michael had vastly improved the last few years. Aziraphale had traveled to Edinburgh for work, the same weekend as Michael. They’d shared a train and a hotel and a long list of grievances. They’d bickered and fought and made some serious headway on migrating from embittered sibling rivals to reluctant friends.

Aziraphale had been excited when Michael’s wedding invitation had gone out, until the little note written just for him had fluttered from the envelope and onto the counter.

_Marked plus one for you already, A. You know who better show._

_Fuck_ had been his response then, and _fuck_ was his reaction now, sitting at his favorite wine bar in Soho, watching as Anathema’s pity grew further and further away.

“You don’t think I’ll manage this, do you?”

Anathema sighed. “I think you’ve really fucked yourself over.”

“Well.” Aziraphale drained his glass and reached into his pocket for a few bills. He dropped them onto the counter as unhappily as he could manage. “Then I best go home and work out a solution then, shouldn’t I?”

Anathema laughed. “You don’t _have_ a solution for this.”

Aziraphale scowled.

He’d show _her._

* * *

Unfortunately —

_Aziraphale had no solution for this._

And so, there wasn’t really much to show. It was nearing midnight, and he was quickly running out of ideas _other_ than _flee the country._ Michael would never forgive him, and they’d worked so _hard_ to be friends.

As a boy, Aziraphale had always felt like the odd one out when it came to his siblings. They were each adopted, each brought into the family at different ages. Aziraphale had been six, Michael eight, and Uriel four, but they all came within a year of one another, and they all arrived with a fierce sense of competition between them. Mother’s attention could not be split evenly amongst them, that was certain. Michael easily edged Aziraphale and Uriel out. Their cousin Sandalphon eventually came to live with them when he was thirteen, and he, too, realized what needed to be done to get Mother’s seemingly ever-dwindling devotion.

It had taken Aziraphale _years_ to realize that her devotion was not in danger of running out, but that they were all simply afraid to be unloved.

Well, it’d taken Aziraphale and a very patient _therapist_ to work that out, but he had been proud of his work nonetheless. It was something Michael still struggled with, and to Aziraphale, it was obvious. The wedding was taking place in the backyard of their childhood home, and Mother’s input could be seen in nearly every decision. It was as if every ounce of affection Michael had not received could be made up for in the year it had taken to properly plan her wedding.

Aziraphale had tried to speak with her about it. The conversation had ended poorly.

Now, he was at an uncomfortable crossroad. The decision to come to Michael’s wedding without a partner in tow wouldn’t just bother his sister, it would also displease their mother, who expressed her annoyance more than once that Aziraphale had canceled his trips home due to one thing or another he was doing with someone new, or someone relatively new, or someone _basically_ new, by her standards. Aziraphale had used the excuse, “Well I _would_ be there, of course, but we actually have opera tickets this weekend, and they were such a pain to get,” at least twice. Indeed, he’d _gone_ to the opera, but not with anyone but himself.

Aziraphale’s inability to secure a partner was a closely guarded secret. The standards he kept were high. He liked things done a certain way. He liked his tea made with a carefully measured amount of water. He liked the bookshop he’d put so many years and so much of his money into organized a very certain way. Aziraphale went to bed and woke at very strict times. His desire for control over these parts of his life was a realm he and his very patient therapist had not covered yet.

Aziraphale wanted to _wait_ to speak about it after a very specific amount of time in therapy, you see.

It was well after midnight, now. Aziraphale had migrated from drinking wine at the wine bar, to drinking wine in his flat. The minutes on the clock _ticked, ticked_ away. He was no closer to an answer than he’d been this morning, or this afternoon, or this evening, sat in front of Anathema, _bemoaning_ the situation.

His phone rang.

“Please,” he said, answering it, “tell me you have called to _gloat._ ”

“ _I wouldn’t._ ” Anathema shifted the phone. Aziraphale heard the telltale signs of the bar closing. “ _But I had a thought. A productive one._ ”

Aziraphale sat up. “I’m listening.”

“ _I’ve got...a friend. When we first met, he was an escort._ ”

“Anathema, please—”

“ _But he started getting clients who needed very specific...services. I remember he once posed as someone’s boyfriend, probably for well over a month. Showed up to family events, spent the Christmas holiday with them._ ”

“Well that’s excessive.”

“ _Money’s money, Aziraphale._ ” The phone shifted again. “ _Anyway, I wanted to ask, if I tracked him down, would you be willing?_ ”

“Willing to hire an escort?” Aziraphale had nothing against a profession. He didn’t doubt the man’s ability to be convincing, but his family...wasn’t _like_ other people. One wrong move, and they’d see right through him.

“ _Well. Yeah._ ”

Aziraphale sighed. The invitation sat on the counter. The idea of arriving in two weeks, _alone_ , was becoming his reality. He groaned. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. “But you should warn him it won’t be easy.”

“ _If I manage to find him, I’ll be sure he knows._ ”

“Fine. Thank you.”

Anathema sighed. “ _Hey. Cheer up, okay? It’s not the end of the world._ ”

Aziraphale scowled and hung up on her. He’d get an earful for _that_ , of course, but no matter. He stood and began making himself a snack. In all his wallowing, he’d forgotten to make dinner.

 _Not the end of the world_ , he thought bitterly, setting some cheese on a plate sullenly.

“Certainly not,” he muttered, “but I’m sure it’s coming.”


	2. the solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter is finally here! please enjoy. sorry i don't know how money works.

Anathema had told him to meet Crowley at the coffee shop ‘round the corner from the bookshop at three. Of course, that’s why Aziraphale was there at _two_ , reading and drinking an inadvisable amount of Earl Grey while he watched the door for the most _Crowley_ looking person he could imagine. And indeed, his imagination did run rather _wild._ What did a male escort look like? Would he be rather _buff_? Or would he be very plainclothes, sort of _under the radar_ , as they said. A handful of very handsome men came through the door, ordered, and either left or took a seat. None of them acknowledged Aziraphale.

At three, he grew more vigilant, keeping his eye trained on the door while considering the possibilities of another tea. At ten past, he wondered if he’d gotten the time wrong. Perhaps the meeting was really set for three-thirty. At a quarter past, he wondered if he had the _place_ wrong, but as much as he’d read and reread Anathema’s message there was really no way he could have —

“Excuse me.”

Aziraphale looked up.

“Are you Aziraphale?”

“Hm?” He’d been momentarily blinded by the most constricting pair of jeans he’d ever seen. “Oh! Yes. Yes, I—” Aziraphale stood, jolting the table, nearly knocking over his mug. Crowley — because this _must_ have been Crowley — reached out and stopped it from making a mess. “Ah. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Crowley slid into the other chair, hanging the strap of a shoulder bag across the back. He began to pull a few things out before he stopped, looked up and said, “You can sit down now.”

Aziraphale sat.

Crowley raised a brow. He wore a pair of _very_ dark sunglasses, but the corner of his mouth twitched up, for only a second, and Aziraphale felt more at ease. At least he’d made him _laugh_.

They sat in silence for a few moments more. Crowley withdrew a slim, silver laptop from his bag, opened a notebook and uncapped his pen.

Aziraphale took a sip of his tea. It’d gone rather cold.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Hm?” Crowley glanced up. “Ah, no. Not at all.”

“Are you sure? The espresso here is quite—”

“You’re not on Facebook,” Crowley interrupted, pulling off his sunglasses. “Why aren’t you on Facebook?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh. Well, I don’t know. Never had the time, I suppose.”

“You’re a book dealer. Your shop’s not on there either.”

Aziraphale straightened up a bit further. “My shop has a pristine reputation. People who find it are either referred or long time customers.” He sipped his tea again, determined to finish it despite the temperature.

Crowley stared for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Whatever. Doesn’t really matter. Makes part of my job easier, in fact. Just hadn’t seen that in a while.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Are _you_ on Facebook?”

Crowley snorted. “Of course not. Who has time for that?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but Crowley said, “So how long have you and your boyfriend been together?”

“I don’t know what Anathema told you—”

“That you’d been lying to your family for more than a year about the existence of a partner. Look, we’re living in a pretend world right now, you and I. So tell me about this boyfriend you’ve created and let’s see where things go, alright?”

“...Alright.”

“Good. Now how long have you been together?”

Aziraphale sighed. “About a year.”

“So it’s serious then.”

“I have never given anyone that impression, but I suppose...I suppose _yes_ , it is a bit serious.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. What sort of things do you do together?”

“Oh, well, the opera, a play here and there. I went to Venice in the spring to pick up a few things for the shop from an old friend and he, ah. Came with me.”

“That’s what you told people.”

“My sister, yes.”

Crowley scribbled a few things in his notebook. “Close with your sister?”

“It’s a recent development, but yes.”

“She’s the one getting married.”

“She is. I’ve brought the invitation, I didn’t know if that would help.” Aziraphale had brought a handful of documents with him. He pulled out the invitation and passed it to Crowley.

“Ligur’s her fiance.”

“He is.”

“Nice bloke?”

“Well. I mean, Michael likes him, so I suppose he can’t be all that bad. I know he has a rough past, from what she’s told me, but Michael is rather guarded. She likes her secrets.”

“Must run in the family.”

Aziraphale nearly said _no, of course not_ — but that was hardly true. His mother was a deeply private person with very few friends. Their cousin Sandalphon was often gone for weeks at a time and would never comment on where he’d been once he returned. Uriel once mentioned her _ex-wife_ over Christmas dinner. No one had batted an eye.

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “We tend to play things close to the chest.”

Crowley nodded. “No judgment here. All this does, again, is make my work easier.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What _is_ your work, exactly? Anathema was...stingy, with the details.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair. “I’m an escort, I know she told you that much.”

“She did.”

“Hm.” Crowley glanced around the cafe. “I’m going to get a drink. Another tea?”

“Oh. Ah, yes please.”

Crowley stood and went to the counter. He came back with a cup of black coffee and Aziraphale’s tea, along with a fruit tart and two forks. “I’m an escort, but I’m...specialized, I guess you’d call it.” He pushed a fork toward Aziraphale. “Go on.”

Aziraphale picked up the fork and took a bite. It was quite good, he’d never had the pastries here.

“You like sweet things?”

“I’ve been known to indulge every so often.”

Crowley smiled, the first time all afternoon. He took a sip of his coffee. “Six years ago, a friend called me. Said she was in a spot of trouble. Sister was getting married, and her ex-fiance was the best man. Asked if I wouldn’t mind showing up, pretending to be her boyfriend for the weekend. Didn’t see the harm in it, so I said yes.

“About a month later, a friend of her _sister_ calls me. I guess she’d finally told her who I was. Word got around. This bloke says _he_ needs a date to his parents’ anniversary banquet. Said he’d pay me whatever I wanted. So, I sat down, wrote out a price list. Went to the banquet, charmed the relatives, banked a tidy sum. Eventually, I was pretending to be peoples’ partners more than I was doing my usual work. So I spoke with my employer, told them about this new venture, and they were delighted.”

“Who is your employer?”

“That’s confidential,” Crowley said quickly.

“...Right.”

Crowley crossed his legs. They went on for _miles._ “What I’m saying is this is hardly my first time.”

“Haven’t you ever run into anyone who recognizes you?”

“Sure. But no one wants to let everyone know they brought an escort to their grandmother’s eightieth birthday weekend getaway now, do they? Part of my success comes from the inherent embarrassment people feel in going so far to continue lying to their families that they’ll _pay_ a man to be their partner. I’m certain if one of your friends hired me and we saw each other at a wedding next year, you’d do the same thing.”

“I suppose I would.”

Crowley took another sip of his coffee and straightened himself out in front of his computer again. “Right. So you not having _any_ social media, frankly, makes our work a lot easier, as I’ve said. I don’t have to create any profiles, or edit any of your postings. All we have to do is start dating.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“We need some photos together, some shared events. Let me see what’s playing around the city, I’m sure I could get tickets for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow _night_ —”

Crowley looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you _terribly_ busy, Aziraphale? I was under the impression that we were crafting a believable story for your family. Since you seem so invested in your lie—”

“I am not invested in the lie—”

“I can pack up and leave right now, honestly. No trouble for me, I’ve got clients I turned down to do this job—”

“I just don’t want to disappoint my _sister_ ,” Aziraphale snapped. A few people looked at them, but the roar of the coffee grinder started up, and the moment passed.

Crowley’s expression softened. “She’s important to you.”

Aziraphale nodded. “We’ve worked so hard to get closer over the last few years. And she’s...she wants me to be happy.” He looked down and stared into his tea. He wished Crowley would put his sunglasses back on. His gaze laid Aziraphale bare.

“...I’ll make sure she’s not disappointed, Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently.

Aziraphale looked up. “Thank you,” he said.

Crowley closed his laptop. “Want to get a proper meal? Take me to your favorite place.”

“We haven’t even started on the fruit tart.”

“Dessert to go,” Crowley said, and picked up the plate. Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue. “Oh come on, I’ll return it on the way back. Don’t forget the forks.”

* * *

They had sushi their first evening together, and saw a play the night after. Crowley had not yet broached the topic of _payment_ , and so Aziraphale was determined, on their third “date”, to bring it up. Naturally, Crowley beat him to it.

“How many days will we be with your family again?”

“A week.”

Crowley nodded. He put something in his phone before setting it on the table and sliding it toward Aziraphale.

“...Is this the grand total?” Crowley nodded. It was...not as bad as Aziraphale had imagined, but it was a hefty sum. “How much do I owe you now?”

“Half is fine.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Will cash be alright?”

“Cash is, frankly, preferred.”

“I can have half ready for you tomorrow.”

“Good.” Crowley took his phone back and smiled. “Enough money talk. Tell me about your mother.”

Aziraphale, mid-sip of his wine, nearly choked. “ _I’m sorry?_ ”

“You mentioned the wedding was in your mother’s backyard. I assume it’s nice, she has money, and she’s happy to have her home be the center of attention.” Aziraphale raised a brow. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, actually. You, ah. You got it in one.” Aziraphale set his glass down. “My mother is a lovely person. My siblings and I are all adopted, and she always made sure we knew and understood that we were a _family_ , first and foremost. She even took in her nephew, Sandalphon, when her sister died.”

“She sounds kind.”

“Yes. Yes, she is.” Aziraphale didn’t really feel like explaining anything else. What he wanted was for this conversation to be over. Crowley would meet his family while everyone was busy focusing on Michael. It was, honestly, perfect. He didn’t need to know more about them, and they didn’t need to know more about him.

Crowley looked at his watch. They’d settled the tab an hour ago. “I think it’s best we head out.”

Aziraphale nodded and drained his wine. He was...a bit drunk, actually. As they approached Crowley’s car in the lot, he said, “It _is_ a lovely car, you know. Bentley, isn’t it?”

Crowley laughed. “You noticed did you?”

“Well I’m not really a _car_ man.”

“My uncle left me this car,” Crowley said, as he put the key in the ignition. Aziraphale raised a brow. In three days, Crowley had offered up zero details about his personal life.

“Uncle.”

“Mmhm. Want to get another drink? Or should I just deliver you to the shop.”

“Shop, I think.”

“Smart choice.” Crowley pulled into traffic. “You mentioned last night you were going to rent a car. Would you rather I drove? Not everyone’s comfortable with the Bentley.”

“Oh, no, I think you should drive. My cousin Gabriel will lose his _mind_ with jealousy over this car.”

Crowley glanced at him. “Something you’re interested in seeing?”

“Gabriel eaten up with envy? Oh yes. He’s a bit of a prat. American. Not that the two facts are related, but.”

“ _But._ ”

Aziraphale laughed. “Anyway, I’m not very comfortable driving. I’d much prefer to ride along.”

Crowley hummed and they rode the rest of the way in silence. At the shop, he parked the car and got out, walking Aziraphale to the door.

An idea came over him, and a bolder, less sober than usual Aziraphale said with a _shocking_ amount of confidence: “Don’t you think you should kiss me?”

Crowley laughed. “I’m sorry?”

“Had you no intention of kissing me in front of my family?”

“Oh, I intended to. I just thought that might be a conversation for later.”

“Well, I believe we’re having it now.”

Crowley leaned against the door frame of the shop. “Looks like we are.” He glanced out into the street. “You’d like me to kiss you, then?”

“Well I think I should know what it feels like at least _once_. I don’t want to look too surprised in front of everyone. What if it’s horrible?”

Crowley’s head whipped around. “I am an _excellent_ kisser.”

“Ah, getting defensive are we?”

“If I wasn’t, I don’t think I’d have made it very far in the business.”

“Says you. Could be you’re getting by on looks alone.”

Crowley laughed. “So you find me attractive!”

“Of course I do, don’t be stupid.”

“Well.” Crowley stepped forward. “It’s your money after all.”

“...Would you prefer to wait until tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, reaching up to cup Aziraphale cheek. “I know you’re good for it.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

It was...a _wonderful_ kiss. Aziraphale had not _been_ kissed in some time, but he wasn’t about to tell _Crowley._ Instead, he opened his mouth against Crowley’s with a soft moan, feeling Crowley’s tongue slide against his own. They were pulled flush against one another, and Aziraphale shivered as Crowley’s other hand slid up and behind his neck, the blunt edges of his nails scraping Aziraphale’s scalp gently. When one of Crowley’s knees slid between his own and _nudged_ ever so carefully, Aziraphale moaned again, deepening the kiss without thought, gripping Crowley’s jacket _tight_. His hips moved forward for more, more friction, more touch, more _anything_ —

Crowley pulled back.

“Well,” he said, bringing two fingers to his spit-slick lips and glancing at them. “I hope that satisfied your curiosity.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “Yes,” he said, quite surprised he was able to speak at all. “Yes it did.”

“Good.” Crowley pulled his keys from his pocket. “We have plans tomorrow, to review some final details.” He leaned in and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, as if for good _bloody_ measure. “Don’t forget.”

“ _I won’t,_ ” Aziraphale said, breathlessly.

Crowley grinned and walked back to his car. He only looked back at Aziraphale once, winking before he got in on the driver’s side and drove away.

Aziraphale slumped against the front door of the shop, staring until the Bentley vanished down the street. “ _Good lord_ ,” he muttered, before fishing uselessly in his pockets for the keys to the shop.


End file.
